


Comfortably Numb

by Inell



Series: Fools Rush In [7]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers are a family, Boys fighting and not communicating, Boys learning how to talk to each other, Fools Rush In Series, M/M, Steve/Clint OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re both stubborn men who dislike admitting when they’re wrong, so Clint and Steve have argued before. Those fights have just never been this quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> Here is another fic set in the Fools Rush In verse. I hope y'all enjoy it! Thank you to everyone who comments/leaves kudos on the fics. <3

The comfy chair in the loft is great for sitting, but it’s not at all comfortable for sleeping. Clint’s taken naps in it before during lazy days and never had an issue, but he wakes up with a sore neck and a pain in his back from the way he’s curled up around one arm of the chair. It takes him a minute to remember that it’s not just another nap that he’s waking from, since he isn’t used to sleeping anywhere but their bed these days. Last night, though, he’d deliberately stayed up in the loft and ignored the sounds of Steve getting ready for bed. Steve hadn’t called up to him or, as happens most often, come up to seduce him downstairs with kisses and promises of making him forget his own name.

No, Steve hadn’t done anything last night except ignore him, which is fine because that’s what Clint wants. He knows it’s childish to have a fit, but he’s angry and frustrated and this is how he handles it. Steve has to know he’s pissed off, so it’s not like he’s retreating into lies about things being just fine. Hell, Steve’s pissed now, too, since the incident yesterday with the whole ‘milk and store and Clint mouthing off and not buying it’ thing and, yeah, he knows it’s immature, he’s got that down, but Steve should realize something’s wrong and figure out how to make it better.

Clint knows it isn’t rational, but it is how he feels. The fact that his passive aggressive behavior has just led to a worse fight than before is fucked up, though. He isn’t sure what he expected when he went to the store and intentionally forgot the few things Steve had asked him to buy, but it wasn’t for Steve to snap at him about being an asshole, and not in the teasing way he usually does, and proceed to give him a lecture about growing up and being too old for that shit. The lecture isn’t what Clint needs, and neither is Steve ignoring him for the rest of the day and not even making an attempt to get him to come down from the loft.

With a sigh, he shifts in the chair and glances down at the blanket covering him. It’s a blanket that wasn’t there when he fell asleep last night, which means Steve must have come up at some point without him even hearing it. Clint’s not sure he likes the idea that Steve can sneak up on him when he’s asleep, since he’s trained to sleep lightly and stir at the faintest noise. The blanket must mean something, though. It’s not like Steve had to come check on him or cover him up. He pulls the blanket up and buries his face in it.

It’s so frustrating right now because he knows this is wrong. The grown up inside him agrees with some of Steve’s lecture from yesterday, and he thinks he’s fucked things up worse than they were in the first place. He isn’t really sure what to do now. The blanket must mean that Steve still cares, even with the fight, but it’s still so damn quiet. Clint expects arguing and yelling and working it out by being stupid and saying things they don’t really mean so they can make up and get over it. He doesn’t expect a disappointed look and confused stares and a quiet lecture that gives way to silence and distance between them.

Sure, he’s the one who slept somewhere else last night, but Steve’s the one who didn’t bother asking him to come back down. This is all Steve’s fault, really, because he’s the one who did laundry and washed that new red washcloth with their shirts. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have ruined Clint’s shirt. It wouldn’t have turned pink, and Steve wouldn’t have tried fixing it with bleach that somehow ate away at the remaining bits of letters that had been peeling for the last eighteen years. 

It’s not like Clint knows how he should have acted when Steve had given him the ruined shirt with an apologetic smile and promise to buy him another one. It’s not like he hadn’t shrugged it off like it was nothing, even though it felt like everything at that particular moment, and gone to bed like there wasn’t anything wrong. It’s not like he knew that not being pissed off when it happened would lead to him being a complete asshole yesterday and picking at everything in an attempt to get a fight going. He just knows he woke up yesterday after a rough sleep of nightmares that he didn’t have that often, and he’d done everything possible to annoy Steve.

And now he does know those things, but it’s too late. Steve isn’t talking to him, and they spent their first night apart that wasn’t due to being out of town since they got together. They fight sometimes, but it’s never been like this. Usually, it’s what he expected to happen yesterday. Yelling and being stupid for a brief time before they end up laughing at themselves and making up. He doesn’t feel like laughing this morning, at all. But he can’t keep hiding up in the loft. That’s not doing anything but making it worse, and it’s already bad enough.

When he finally stands up, he carefully goes over to the edge of the loft and looks over. The apartment is silent, and their bedroom door is open. Steve’s not here unless he’s sitting beneath the loft. Clint feels a twist in his gut as he hurries down the spiral staircase. Steve isn’t sitting by the bar or at one of the tables. After checking that, he goes to their bedroom, just in case, but it’s empty. His hand is shaking when he goes to the closet and opens it, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when he sees that Steve’s clothes are still there. He hasn’t left.

Not yet.

Clint tries to ignore that voice in his head that has to point that out. Everyone leaves him, though, so why should Steve be any different? They’ve had a fight, a bad one, and it makes sense that Steve doesn’t want to deal with him and his inability to behave like an adult. He’d said as much yesterday, hadn’t he? That Clint was behaving like an immature child having a tantrum, and that he needed to grow up if he expected to have an adult relationship. The words had struck close to home, hitting at his insecurities perfectly. Steve’s a mature adult who doesn’t need nor want to deal with someone who can’t be his equal. And Clint’s not sure he can always do that. Hell, after the last day and a half, he knows he can’t.

“Fuck.” Clint sits on the side of the bed and runs his fingers through his hair. This isn’t something he’s ever had to deal with before, so he doesn’t know what to do. He has to figure it out before Steve decides he’s not worth it, after all, and leaves him. He can’t lose Steve, especially not over something he can’t explain because it doesn’t make sense even to him. Clint gets up and goes to his dresser, pulling out the worn old t-shirt that’s now pink with white stripes. He rubs his thumb over the bits of adhesive that had kept what was left of the lettering in place. 

It’s all gone now. Nothing at all like it had been when he wore it the other day. At one point, it proudly proclaimed Bobcats in vibrant blue lettering across the front. Most of those letters had faded with time or fallen off in the wash, but there had still been an O and T left with part of the second B and A. Clint remembers when Barney bought it, at some minor league baseball game they’d gone to when Clint was thirteen. It’s Barney’s shirt. The one he bought for Clint was lost years ago, when he was still with the circus and grew out of it, before he stole this one from Barney. Before Barney betrayed him and turned his back on him.

It’s so fucking stupid to let this shirt come between him and Steve. Clint knows this, but he can’t change how he feels. This shirt means something to him, even if he shouldn’t feel anything but contempt and hatred towards his brother considering what happened between them. It’s comforting to him, one of the few things he took from the circus and actually kept with him throughout his adult life. It’s a memory of hanging out with Barney at some ballpark in some random town the circus had visited, eating hot dogs and cheering on a team neither of them knew existed until they’d had a free afternoon and money to spend on something frivolous.

How is he supposed to explain that to Steve? It’s not like he knows why it matters to him. Hell, it’s not like he knew how much it did matter until Steve ruined it. Clint wipes the back of his hand across his eyes and shoves the shirt back in his drawer. He needs to take a shower and get something to eat since he hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Skipping dinner last night had been another childish move, he’s sure, but it’s not like he’d been hungry, and Steve hadn’t tried to get him to come down for food, either.

After his shower, his head still isn’t clear, and he still feels scared and angry and uncertain about what to do. Clint knows he needs to try doing something, though, because he can’t lose Steve. That’s about the only thing he _does_ know. Once he’s dressed, he heads upstairs to the kitchen. It’s only when he’s there and hears voices talking from outside the door that he remembers it’s Sunday. The team always tries to do breakfast together on Sundays. And Steve hadn’t woken him up to join them.

Fuck.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees most of the team already at the table. The chair beside Steve is empty, as is the one to Nat’s left.

“Sleeping beauty has decided to grace us with his presence, after all,” Tony says with a smile and wink.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can be naturally beautiful, I guess,” he murmurs, not really in the mood to keep up with Tony for once. Instead of taking his usual place, Clint walks around the table to sit by Nat. After he sits down, he notices how quiet everyone gets. Looking up, he sees Tony frowning. “What?”

“Do you want any eggs, Clint?” Bruce asks, breaking the silence as he passes Clint the platter that holds scrambled eggs.

“Thanks,” he mutters, arching a brow at Nat when she looks at him suspiciously. He nudges her with his elbow. “Do you want some eggs?”

“I already have some,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she keeps staring at him.

“Brother Clint, have some bacon. I saved some for you.” Thor holds out a plate piled high with bacon. Clint reaches for it and can’t help but look at Steve, who is looking at him. When their gazes meet, Steve looks down at his plate and shovels a forkful of hash browns into his mouth.

“That’s not all yours, Legolas, so remember to share.” Tony is looking at Steve when Clint glances at him. “You’ll have to get that apricot jam you like yourself because it’s not on the table.”

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. I can, um, have something else.” Clint smiles wryly and hands the plate of bacon to Pepper after he gets a few strips for himself. His appetite is fading fast, and he’s not feeling very hungry anymore. 

Pepper looks at his plate before rolling her eyes and adding more bacon to it at the same time Jane stands up quickly. “I’ll get your jam for you, Clint,” Jane says, smiling sweetly before she heads to the fridge.

“Thanks, Jane,” he says quietly, putting his napkin on his thigh and poking at his eggs with his fork. He sneaks a look at Steve and notices that he looks tired and drained, which is how Clint feels right now.

The easy chatter that he heard before entering the kitchen is gone. Instead, everyone is quiet as they eat, the sound of utensils hitting glass the only noise other than Tony and Pepper whispering at each other occasionally. It’s the most awkward he’s ever felt since moving into the tower, and he isn’t sure if it’s how it really is or just how he feels that’s making it seem that way.

“You should have some of the grits,” Steve murmurs, not looking at him as he pushes the bowl across the table towards him. “They’re fixed the way you like them.”

“Okay.” Clint isn’t really sure what else to say since those are the first words Steve’s spoken to him since the blow-up yesterday afternoon. “Thanks.” He stares down at his plate as he eats, not really tasting anything so much as just mechanically eating because he knows he needs to, especially after missing dinner last night.

Silence descends once again. There are a few conversations that finally begin, but he doesn’t pay much attention to them. He isn’t sure he could even say what they were about if asked, if he’s completely honest. It’s hard to listen to anything when he’s trying to look at Steve and also trying to make sense of the shit in his head and figure out how he can fix things, if it can be fixed, and worrying about what happens if it can’t be fixed.

“Enough.” Nat’s voice is sharp and firm. Clint glances at her and sees that she’s glaring at Steve. “I do not know what has happened, but it must be resolved now. There are no eggshells on this floor, so I will not be forced to walk upon them.”

“Don’t look at me, Natasha. Look at your boy,” Steve mutters, scowling at her before glancing at Clint. “I can’t resolve something when I don’t even know what the problem is.”

“Mom and Dad can’t fight,” Tony says, his gaze darting between Clint and Steve. “It messes up the entire balance of the world, and things don’t work right when they’re tilted. Even Thor’s uncomfortable, and you can’t make him a sad puppy. That’s bad parenting! It’s in every basic parenting book around. We need to get you research material, obviously, since you now have six of us, eight if we include Happy and Rhodey and they totally count, and we can’t have Mom and Dad not talking to each other. It makes me nervous, damn it.”

“We aren’t your real parents, Tony,” Clint points out, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he shifts awkwardly in his chair. “But I’ll go ahead and leave, because I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. And like Steve says, this is my fault. Isn’t it always?”

“Clint, sit down,” Nat says, giving him a look that is basically daring him to disobey.

“I don’t think anyone is blaming you, Clint,” Bruce points out. “In most arguments, there’s blame on both sides. It’s none of our business what’s happening between you and Steve, but it’s obviously affecting others, so maybe you two should try to talk it over and work it out.”

“Yes, what he said. Go fight or fuck or both. Just…make up and stop with the tense silence because it’s wrong. So wrong.” Tony looks at Pepper and shrugs. “Hey, Natasha started it. I was just supporting my little sis.”

“We’ll clean up,” Pepper says, looking at Clint. “I think Bruce has a good idea. It’s obvious that something’s happened, and communication is important.”

“I never blamed you, Clint.” Steve frowns at him and looks around before he sighs and stands up. “I’m sorry for making anyone uneasy. We certainly didn’t intend to let our disagreement affect others.”

“You did blame me,” Clint says softly. “You told Nat to look at me about the eggshells.” He stands up and kisses Nat’s cheek before he turns and leaves the kitchen. He isn’t surprised when he hears footsteps behind him. Steve doesn’t say anything until Clint walks to the stairs instead of the elevator.

“I’m not going to let you go, sweetheart. You can’t run away this time. I’m done letting you hide like that’s going to help anything.” Steve follows him into the stairwell and grabs his arm. “Damn it, Clint. _Talk to me_.”

“I can’t!” Clint stares at him and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried. I’ve been thinking all night and morning, but I still don’t have the words. I’m not an immature child, Steve. I might be fucked up and suck at talking about shit like this, but I’m not having a tantrum.”

Steve flinches and tightens his grip on Clint’s arm. “I shouldn’t have said that. I regretted it after I did, but I was just frustrated and angry. I knew something was wrong, but you wouldn’t talk to me. Instead, you were in my face about the fucking milk, of all things, and I snapped.”

“Not wouldn’t,” Clint murmurs. “Couldn’t. I couldn’t talk because I don’t know what to say.”

“What did I do, Clint? I know something must have set you off, but I can’t figure out what. I’ve tried and tried, but I just can’t. Can you at least tell me that much?”

“I…” Clint bites his lip and looks at the stair he’s standing on. “Let’s go home, and I’ll try. It’s still home, isn’t it?” He glances up at Steve anxiously. “You aren’t leaving me, are you?”

“God no.” Steve shakes his head. “Never, if I have any say in it. Why would you even think…I know we’re fighting, sweetheart, but people in relationships do that. I want to understand so I can try to make this better, to know what went wrong so we don’t repeat it, but I’m not letting you go, especially not over a fight. You need to stop worrying about that.”

“Try to but can’t. Everyone always leaves me, you know? I’m used to it, and I haven’t gotten used to someone staying yet.” Clint tugs on Steve’s hand. “Let’s talk at home. I need…maybe I can explain it, and you’ll understand, even if I can’t.”

“Get used to it.” Steve takes a few steps down until they’re almost even and then he kisses Clint gently. “I’ll try to understand, but, even if I don’t, I’m not going anywhere. Understood?”

“Understood.” Clint kisses his jaw. “I’m sorry. For provoking you and not knowing how to handle the anger and frustration I was feeling, and just taking it out on you yesterday. I should have gone to the range and then tried talking or something. I don’t know.”

“Next time, you can try that and see if it helps. Because I know there’s going to be a next time. Probably many next times, and it might be me or it might be you, but neither of us leaving the other over it,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t sure what to do, and I almost asked Natasha for guidance, but I was too proud to admit I didn’t know what I’d done or how to handle you when you were being such a…well, brat, I guess.”

“We were both assholes in our own way,” Clint tells him. “Next time, ask Nat. She’d probably tell you to smack me upside the head, but that usually works, so it’s good advice.” He smiles slightly. “I’m already starting to feel better, even if I know we have to do the whole talking thing.”

“I don’t want to sleep alone again,” Steve admits quietly. “We can’t do that again, even if we’re still angry over something. I was up all night trying to resist the urge to go to the loft and curl up with you in that chair. I hated how that felt.”

“Agreed.” Clint knows they have to compromise and talk about shit like this, even if he isn’t sure he’ll always be able to do it. Right now, he’s just glad Steve’s willing to meet him halfway because he’s flying blind and trying to figure it out as he goes. When they get downstairs, he’s going to try to explain about the shirt and Barney and hope Steve realizes that sometimes things aren’t rational but they still matter and mean something. Somehow, he thinks maybe Steve will understand that.

End


End file.
